Now That We're Done I'm So Sorry
by amoenavi
Summary: Her nose is scrunched up and her mascara is running and her lip is quivering and everything in him is screaming for him to RUN THE HELL AWAY and most of him wants to listen. Unfortunately, that small part of him that doesn’t want to run - it's his legs.


Now That We're Done (I'm So Sorry)

or Truman Needs To Go Die In A Hole

by: amoenavi

A/N: I've had this sitting on my computer since the SPOILER clips of the party with Truman and Vicky came out. And since this episode hasn't aired yet, there are mighty spoilers ahead. Sort of.

-x-x-

Truman French frenched Casey McDonald's cousin Icky Vicky (who looks a hell of a lot… differenter now. Derek is sure she looked more like Casey when he made out with her. And no, that's not wishful thinking or whatever – it's true!)

That's just… he can't even think of words to describe the violent feeling he gets when he thinks about it (righteous anger? what?) but he does know one thing: _no one_ does that to Casey. Cheating is low; the lowest of anything ever and it's not okay for him to do that.

Okay, so Derek cheated once maybe but that didn't count (it wasn't on _Casey_, for Chrissake). Guys know not to cheat on girls who think they hung the moon (he doesn't really understand why Casey thinks _Truman_ did but whatever) and Casey's _definitely_ a romantic and –

It's just _not_ okay.

-x-x-

The upstairs hallway is like a warzone.

Kleenex on the floor, in the ballet shoes hanging from her door, on the attic stairs, and he's pretty sure he saw some hanging from the ceiling or something because they're just _everywhere._

He nudges her door open, peering inside warily to assess the damage.

She's crying and sniffling and, unlike in all of his fantasies, it's less hot and really just… pathetic. Her nose is scrunched up and her mascara is running and her lip is quivering and everything in him is screaming for him to_ RUN THE HELL AWAY_ and most of him wants to listen.

Unfortunately, that small part of him that doesn't want to run – it's his legs.

Muscles tensed, ready for a fight, Derek takes a small step forward into the "tear zone". Casey hears the boards creak underneath his feet and angles herself away from the door.

"Uh, are you… I mean…" He shuffles his feet, already uncomfortable. "…yeah."

She looks at him over her shoulder, red-rimmed eyes watching him. "Go away, Derek," she says, tired or exasperated or something. He doesn't move.

She's sad and it's not his fault and nothing he can say will make it –

Wait. Truman had said something (a drunken ramble) about her at that party, about liking her, about his f – f – _feelings_. He could tell her that.

"_Casey? Truman really did like you."_

_She brightens. "Really? Thanks, Derek! I knew he was only making a bad decision because of his being under the influence!" She jumps up and puts on her coat (which he hadn't noticed was sitting there…) and moves to open the door and leave._

"_Where are you going?" he asks, confused._

_She shoots him a 'you're so silly' look. "I'm going off to marry Truman and have his kids and teach them to ride their bicycles and dance while you remain an eternal bachelor, using woman after woman until you realize the chance you blew." She pauses, considers something and smiles. "Oh, and we're going to have lots of crazy makeup sex!"_

…Option one out.

Option two: he could apologize (for something he didn't do).

"_I… I'm sorry. Truman never deserved you."_

_Her eyes light up over the tear tracks (from tears which have mysteriously disappeared). "Oh!" she proclaims, voice heavy with love. "I've been pining in secret for so long, I'm relieved that you made the first move! I love you, Derek! Let's go have lots of crazy epiphany sex!" She grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls him down for a kiss and oh God, this should've happened years ago._

Yeah, he's a fan of that.

He opens his mouth to say something and she sniffles again (and then he remembers that her boyfriend just cheated on her with her cousin so he should probably say something more along the lines of "Dinner's ready" or "Nora wants to see you").

Instead, he compromises (cops out) and nods stiffly, backing out of her room at the speed of light. He brings her dinner to her door later and his heart breaks a little when she doesn't answer.

-x-x-

He can still hear her crying through the thin wall that separates their rooms. He hates all men right now. He hates Sam, he hates Scott, he hates Trevor, he hates Max, he hates Noel, and he fucking _hates_ Truman. But mostly he hates himself because he can make it better and he won't.

He pads out into the hallway, still not quite sure what he's going to say to her.

"Hey, Casey?" he calls softly and he's going to be kicking himself later for this, but if he can make her stop crying, then it's okay. Her head appears, eyes red, eyebrow raised, and she's still sniffing and crying a little. He digs his nails into his crossed arms. "Truman's…" she winces on his name and Derek wants to kill him, "an idiot. He – he had just, you know. He'd been telling me about– how… you are. And – it's not that he didn't… whatever. He's just…" Derek swallows because this was so much easier in his head. "You know. A jerk." _Like me._

Her mouth drops open into an 'O' of surprise and her brow furrows.

"Are you… _being nice_ to me?" She watches him very carefully, eyes shrewd. "Or… sort of attempting it?"

Yeah, and he's kind of sucking in case she hasn't noticed.

"No. Why would I?" he replies quickly. An old standby: he mumbles and he smirks.

She stares at him, face devoid of all emotion. It's a testament to how much they've changed since Sophomore year that she's not accepting this excuse.

He swallows his words. "I'm sorry, Case."

There's a moment when he's not sure what's going to happen (he doesn't do the whole "apology" thing enough to know how it's supposed to go).

Then she steps out into the hallway and he sees the (strongbravetough) girl she used to be in the way she holds her shoulders. "For once, it's not your fault. But… thanks. For the apology. And the – I know how hard that is for you." She pauses, staring at a point over his shoulder instead of looking him in the eye. "You're a good brother."

They both wince simultaneously on 'brother', although his is more the wince of a man having his heart run over by a zamboni and hers… well, he doesn't know what her wince is. "Oh, God. That's weird, I'm sorry. You're _so_ not my brother," she amends, staring fixedly at the carpet. "I mean, you're great but – "

It sounds kind of like a breakup (the good kind – the "there are no familial ties linking us together" kind). "We're not related, loser."

She cracks a grin and he starts to breathe again. "Thank _God_."

-x-x-


End file.
